


In Dreams

by holyhael



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dreams, M/M, Supernatural Season 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyhael/pseuds/holyhael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Destiel. Castiel trespasses on Sam's dream.</p><p>-</p><p>“Maybe you can be Dean’s light,” Sam muses. “And he can be yours. I saw Bobby’s soul when I completed the second trial, and I couldn’t believe it. It was so bright. Does Dean’s soul look like that?”</p><p>“Dean’s soul is the brightest I have seen.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Dreams

Castiel walks up the dock. The lake is calm in the night as fat snowflakes fall upon its surface. Far beyond, the porch light of a summer home has been turned on, and it is the only thing to reflect in the dark lake waters. Night sounds echo through the tall evergreens that stand, opaque spires, up to the dark, gritty beach. It was calm. The soles of Castiel’s dress shoes clap against the wooden dock. The tide laved against the pebbled shore. His chest heaves in an out and expels clouds that linger in the air and drift hastily away. And he dreams.

Sam dreams of this place, although whether it exists outside of his mind’s eye is a mystery, and is at peace. He smiles at Castiel as he passes him a fishing rod. Castiel wonders if the man trusts him as much as he does in reality as he does in the dream.

“Coho’s really biting,” the Sam remarks. His pole is still. Halfway across the lake, his sinker bobs.

Castiel nods. “How many have you caught?”

“Two, I think,” Sam replied, rubbing his chin. “It’s hard to remember. Lucifer keeps on shouting random numbers in my ear and it makes it hard to think. It was annoying enough when Dean used to do it when he were kids, but now I just want to swallow this fishing hook.” He twirled a hook attached to a thread around in his fingers. Speared by the barb, a helpless worm flails.

He frowns. “I wasn’t aware you still suffered hallucinations.”

“Only in my nightmares.”

“Is this a nightmare?” It seems entirely too calm to be bad. Castiel is, for the first time he can remember, tranquil.

Sam shakes his head. “When are the fish going to bite again? They must all be gone.”

“There are many fish in the sea, Samuel.”

“I’m not a prophet,” Sam protests. The weariness in his expression falls back into place. Castiel hadn’t missed it. “Not a judge, not a leader.”

“You are who you wish to be,” Castiel says.

“Yeah, but I can’t be a prophet.” Sam takes a long draught of his alcohol. “Leave the tablets to Kevin.”

Castiel wonders if he should tell Sam of Kevin’s whereabouts but decides to remain silent. It is unlikely Sam would remember when he wakened, and it is likely Kevin will have moved on by the time the Winchesters arrive. “It’s getting cold,” he says instead. Sam is not wearing a jacket.

Sam shrugs. “Beats hellfire if you ask me.”

Castiel frowns again. “Your optimism is strange.”

“Dean doesn’t have any optimism,” Sam comments truthfully. “He isn’t convinced of the light at the end of the tunnel. He still jokes that the light is just the end of the birth canal.” Snorting, Sam finishes his drink and throws it into the lake. “I’m dreaming, so littering doesn’t matter, does it?”

“No.”

“What about you, Cas? Do you see the light at the end of the tunnel?”

He thinks about it for a moment. The only light he can see is the one above the door of the summerhouse. He shakes his head. “I’m afraid not.”

“You’re made of light, right?” Sam asks suddenly.

Though confused about this question, Castiel answers, “Yes, light and sound.”

“Maybe you can be Dean’s light,” Sam muses. “And he can be yours. I saw Bobby’s soul when I completed the second trial, and I couldn’t believe it. It was so bright. Does Dean’s soul look like that?”

It takes Castiel a moment to answer, surprised that Sam has already completed the second trial to close the gates of Hell. He should have noticed the new change in Sam, but he hadn’t. He has become accustom to not using his grace and seeing with human eyes. He taps into his grace now and peels back the human eyes he’d seen the world through. The sight of Sam shocked him. Last he saw Sam, the changes he’d undergone, though small compared to what was left of him, were irreversible. Now, two thirds of his soul is toxic, and Castiel has to guiltily recede his grace. He doesn’t want to see Sam like this.

He contemplates Sam’s answer instead of lingering on the taint on his soul that was so very different than the demonic influence he had. He thought of Dean’s much brighter grace and how much more beautiful his is compared to his brother’s. Though it pains Castiel, he has to favor Dean’s luminescent soul to Sam’s damaged one.

“Dean’s soul is the brightest I have seen,” Castiel confesses.

Sam nods as though he’s thought of it as such. “He misses you, Cas, you know.”

Castiel does.

“He’s over there,” Sam tells him, lifting a hand off of his fishing rod to point at the summerhouse across the lake.

“Thank you.”

Being a dream, Castiel manipulates the reality to take him to the door of the summerhouse without the use to his grace. He knocks on the door and waits for an answer, but when none comes, he opens the door himself. “Dean?”

“I’m making macaroni!” Dean shouts back. Castiel follows his voice to the kitchen to see Dean standing over the stove with a large pot of water boiling on top of it. “Would you like some?”

“No, thank you.” Unable to resist himself, Castiel once again sees beyond his human eyes to see Dean’s soul. But when he does look with his grace, he understand that this is not the Dean he knows. This man is simply a facsimile of reality, a figment of Sam’s dream, and there is no blinding soul to behold beneath that smirk and his freckles. Disappointment clouds Castiel’s thoughts until he realizes that the fake Dean is talking to him again.

“… kind of bad, but I’m getting better,” he finishes as he pours a bowl of uncooked noodles into the boiling water. “Are you sure you don’t want any? There’ll be plenty.”

“I’m certain.” Castiel is sure that no matter how well Sam knows his brother, nothing, not even his cooking, will be able to compare to what lies outside of Sam’s head. He would like to try one of Dean’s preparations in the waking world.

Dean turns around from the stove and fixes Castiel with an open look. “Got anything for me, Cas?”

“What would I have for you?”

Dean shrugs. “Anything, really. A job, a feather, a kiss.”

“A kiss?” His head tilts as he tries to understand Sam’s Dean, but the angle doesn’t seem to be able to augment his perception skills.

“Yeah.” Dean pushes off of the counter and, as the real one would say, invades Castiel’s personal space. Being a dream, Castiel can’t smell the gun oil or the leather on Dean’s skin, can’t feel the heat radiating from him. Dean turns his head and points a finger into his check. “Right here.”

“You want me to kiss you?” Dream or not, even the idea sends flutters between Castiel’s ribs. He momentarily forgets himself and loses himself in the warm feeling. It is so human.

“Yeah, why not.” Dean taps his cheek again, right against his freckles. “Plant one on me, Colombo.”

Never one to begrudge Dean of anything as long as it doesn’t impede his safety, Castiel leans in and presses his lips to Dean’s warm cheek - what’s the harm in a simple kiss within a dream?

Castiel immediately sees there is danger here in the churning within his stomach and the ache making his heart beat faster than normal. His fingers grab Dean by his jaw and turn him to face Castiel completely so their lips can meet and slide together effortlessly. His lips are smooth under Castiel’s.

“Like that?” Castiel asks when he withdraws. He wants to lick his lips as he’s seen Dean do many times before.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Then, Dean grabs Castiel by his hands and pulls him back in. Too dazed and enchanted to think clearly, Castiel opens his mouth further to let Dean inside.

But this is a dream, one that Castiel has trespassed upon. As soon as he recognizes what he’s doing and who he’s doing this with - not the real Dean, he realizes disappointingly - he stops and shoves Dean back by his shoulders.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Castiel asks.

“Dude, this is a dream, come on.” Dean still holds onto his hands, and he tugs at them to get Castiel to mold himself back against him. He will not go, though.

“This isn’t even your dream,” Castiel reminds Dean and himself. “You are not real.”

Memories of Naomi’s conditioning flood his mind. He’s had enough fake Deans to last several suns. With little more than a thought, he flicks himself out of Sam’s dream and finds himself one again in the abandoned, thawing forest of northern British Colombia (or perhaps he is further north than that. He has traveled far and wide as of late and is uncertain of his whereabouts). It is as dark as it was in Sam’s dream. Castiel curses himself for reaching out to make sure his family was safe. He should not have done so in that manner and should not have stayed as long as he had.

The tablet burns in his palms and against his chest; he slept with it clutched against him. Imprints of the hieroglyphics have been impressed onto his palm and fingers with the force of his grip, and when he loosens his knuckles they are sore and crack.

There are more owls in the real world than in Sam’s dream. They hoot and flap about when Castiel treks through their territory. With every step through the forest, he attempts to shed the dream from his memory, detail by detail, but it is stubborn to hold to his mind, especially the moments when Dean kissed him and when Sam talked about a lights at the ends of tunnels (and to be quite truthful Castiel assumes that was all nonsensical dream-talk, but nevertheless he remembers every word while the rest of the conversation is remembered by the topics covered).

He walks until the sun is high in the sky and the trees begin to thin out and become smaller. In front of him protrudes a dock, and spread out beneath that is a lake.

+

“You won’t believe how weird the dream I had last night was.”

Dean looks up from the stove to see his brother slumping into the chair at the head of the dining table. His hair was a greasy, helpless tangle. His eyebrows were puckered between his eyes, but Dean could see traces of amusement in them instead of horror or tiredness.

“Clowns or midgets?”

“Dude, I told you not to ask that question anymore.” Sam shut his eyes and rubbed his temples as if he had a headache. Dean immediately felt sorry for bringing that up even though that nightmare had long passed; Tuesdays and Asia still made Sam cringe.

“Sorry.” He slaps a couple spoonfuls of eggs on Sam’s plate and carries it over to him in apology instead of making him walk over for it. “So, tell me about this dream.”

Sam’s lips quirked up. “Well, Cas was there.” He pauses to drink his coffee and probably to gauge Dean’s reaction. Dean keeps as little emotion as he can out of his expression. “We were fishing, I guess.”

This made Dean frown. Cas slipping into fishing dreams is their thing. If doing it once can count as a thing. “What happened then?”

“We were talking, although I don’t really remember what of. Then the dream changed. You were making macaroni and Cas kissed you.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up at the same time that his chest clenches. Maybe he and Sam are so attached that they had the same dreams. But how did Sam take it? That is the most important thing, really, Sam’s reaction.

“Okay…?”

“I don’t know, it was just sort of weird.” Sam shrugs and looks down at his eggs. “Not that I’d have any issue with it if it ever… you know.”

_Sam knows._

“Okay, um… thanks for your blessing, Sam the Wise.”

“Just letting you know.”

Dean’s shoulders relax. They continue to eat breakfast in silence, the scraping of forks against plates and the soft turning page of a book are the only sounds. If the book sounds too much like angel wings and Dean looks around with a painfully hopeful expression on his face, Sam doesn’t mention it.


End file.
